Darkness Falling
by Cloaked Eagle
Summary: AU. The Eagles carry the Ring to Orodruin, but Saruman is still at large. Can the King overcome the odds and still return?
1. A Different Solution

DISCLAIMER: The plot is mine. The first paragraph is from _The Fellowship Of The Ring: The Council Of Elrond_. All of the characters belong to Tolkien.

Chapter I: A Different Solution

"At least for a while," said Elrond. "The road must be trod, but it will be very hard. And neither strength nor wisdom will carry us far upon it. This quest may be attempted by the weak with as much hope as the strong. Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere."

At that moment, a bird cried out above the heads of the Council. As it wheeled away into the west, unconcerned with the matters being decided below, Bilbo gasped.

"The road must be trod, you say, Master Elrond. But why so? Why could it not be travelled by some other means?"

Elrond smiled. "I am afraid, Bilbo, that all the horses in Rivendell must remain here. In the event of an attack, they would all be needed."

Bilbo nodded. "That is true. But it was not of riding I spoke . . . it was of flying. What of the Eagles? They came to our assistance at the Battle of the Five Armies – will they not do so again, at this far more dangerous time?"

Elrond pondered the question. There were hundreds of obvious reasons why not, surely . . . but at that moment he could think of none. Glancing over at Gandalf, he received a simple shrug. Frowning, he turned back to Bilbo.

"Already you reveal the truth in what I said. It seems that the eyes of the great were fixed too firmly on the roads, and so the small have a chance to show their quality.

"I can find no problem with your idea, Bilbo Baggins, save one. The Eyrie in which the Eagles abide is on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. The road is treacherous these days – both with the reappearance of the orcs, and with the snows of winter. To reach them would require great strength, both of mind and body." As he spoke, he looked around, waiting to see who would volunteer. To his surprise, Gandalf rose.

"I will take our message to Gwaihir, the Lord of the Eagles. He is known to me of old, and may listen to me more than he would to any elf. He does not trust many of the Children of Iluvatar, so any messenger of yours – yes, even proud Glorfindel, who has seen the great Thorondor of old – would be more likely to anger him than to gain his assistance."

Elrond nodded. "Then so shall it be. We will lend you a horse, that you might move faster. You will leave in the morning, and the hopes of the Free People will travel with you."

* * *

This was a short first chapter, as it technically is just the end of the chapter in the book. Apart from that, not much to say.

-- oh, yes. Please note that this story is Book-verse. Or at least, stems from Book-verse. As will be seen, it's going to diverge rather rapidly.

Cloaked Eagle


	2. Perilous Journey

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Tolkien. The plot belongs to me.

Chapter II: Perilous Journey 

A day passed, and another, and still there came no word from Gandalf. Frodo knew that the journey over the mountains to the Eyrie was long and perilous, and thus that Gandalf could not be expected to complete it swiftly. Nevertheless, in his heart he feared the worst.

He need not have troubled himself. As the sun set on the third day after Gandalf had left, there came a great cry from the gardens of Rivendell. All those within, Elves, Men, Dwarves and Hobbits alike, ran out, to a sight which struck their hearts with fear and awe. There, settled on the path before the Last Homely House, were two great Eagles.

As they stared, Gandalf walked around from behind the larger of the eagles. "Ah, my friends," he said, "I see you heard Gwaihir's call. Gwaihir is Lord of the Eagles of the Misty Mountains, and he and his brother Landroval have agreed to help us in our quest."

"Then it seems our Halfling friend has worried needlessly," said Aragorn, stepping forward and placing a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "He feared something terrible had happened to you."

"Terrible?" queried Gandalf. "No, Frodo," he said, turning to look at the hobbit, "not terrible. Rather uncomfortable, perhaps, but not terrible."

"Will you not tell us about it?" cried Pippin, forgetting himself for a moment. As the assembled turned to look at him, he tried to back away, to hide his embarrassment, but there was no need.

Gandalf laughed. "Yes, young Peregrin, I will tell you. Come, let us remove to the Hall of Fire, for the tale is too long to tell standing in the cold."

In the Hall, Gandalf sat himself beside the fire, and those who wished to hear his tale arrayed themselves around him. Elrond handed the wizard a glass of wine, which he drank from with thanks, and then settled down to listen.

"Long is the high pass across the Mountains, especially in winter, and especially when the Dark is rising and orcs are making their presence felt. You will recall that Thorin and Company did not make it all the way across, but instead took an unexpected shortcut through the mountains." Several of those attending nodded agreement, and Gloin called out, "That was your fault, you know. If you had been paying attention . . ."

The crowd laughed at this, and then settled down again as Gandalf raised his hands. "Regardless, that shortcut left me with a small problem. I had not since ventured across that particular pass again, and so lacked recent information on the far end. Elrond furnished me with what he could, but there is little even in the libraries of Rivendell.

"And so, with no knowledge of what awaited me, I set out. Upwards I rode, following the narrow track on my borrowed horse – who, Lord Elrond, now roams free across the fields between the Mountains and Mirkwood."

Elrond nodded in acceptance, and another elf near him called out, "Perhaps I shall find him on my journey home!"

"Perhaps you shall, Prince Legolas," replied Gandalf, "and I am sure you will give him a good home if you do. But anyway. I rode until I reached the highest point of the pass. From there, a point Thorin's group never reached, I could see both Rivendell and the Eyrie. Fortunately for me, I could also see the path I had yet to follow. From that high place I could scout my route, seeing what dangers awaited me.

"Long I waited, scanning every inch of my future journey. At last, I knew all that I had to do, and prepared to leave. As I did, I fortuitously glanced backwards, and realised that I had left my departure almost too late. A company of Orcs was swarming up the path, and were almost upon me.

"Swiftly I mounted, and fled down the pass, towards the Eyrie and safety. But soon the orcs too crested the mountain, and looking down espied me amid the rocks.

"Bows they drew, and all might have gone different, save for one thing. The Eagles keep a watch on the mountains, keeping the orcs trapped. Whenever orcs do appear on the east side of the mountains, the Eagles will act fast to drive them back. As I rode, expecting at every moment to feel the sharp bite of an arrow in my back, there came instead a great screech. My horse wished to flee, but I managed to halt him and turn him.

"There, at the top of the pass, the orcs were scattered by great Eagle, diving repeatedly at them and rending their flesh with mighty talons. Many an orc fell to his death in the rocky cleft beside which the path ran, until at last all were dead or fled. Then back flew the Eagles, leaving me alone once more.

"But more hope had I. I knew now that the Eagles still lived in their Eyrie, and also that they still fought against Evil. Heartened, I continued down the track.

"Nothing more came to pass until I arrived at the Eyrie. There I was taken before Gwaihir to plead my case. I knew that he would be reluctant to assist – only on momentous occasions, such as the Battle of the Five Armies, will the Eagles stray far from their eyries, and Mordor lies further even than Erebor.

"'Gwaihir,' I said, 'I bring a request from Lord Elrond of Imladris, on behalf of all the free peoples of Middle-Earth. The One Ring has been found, and must be destroyed in Orodruin before Sauron can reclaim it. We request that you send one of your subjects to transport it there.' 'What concern is Sauron to us?' he replied. 'We live here, far out of range of arrows and orcs. He cannot harm us.'

"'Do not be so sure,' I responded. 'Sauron has many servants, among them the wizard Saruman. A sorcerer of his might could easily bring this entire Eyrie crumbling to the ground.' I realised I had spoken too loudly when the other eagles in the Eyrie began to ruffle their feathers in horror. Still, my haste worked to our advantage."

"Gwaihir sent me away then, asking that I remain in the Eyrie while he conferred. It was long before he sent for me, and on my return he spoke. 'We agree that this danger cannot be allowed to remain,' he informed me. 'However, I cannot in good conscience send any of my subjects on a mission that may result in their deaths.' I bowed my head, prepared to leave, but he spoke again. 'Therefore, I myself will go, accompanied by my brother Landroval.'

"I thanked him profusely, as you may have guessed. After releasing my horse, I climbed onto his back. 'Hold tight,' he told me, 'for although we will not fly as fast as we might, the wind will still be strong.'

"And strong it was. Across the mountains we flew, covering in minutes what had taken me hours by horse. And then, at last, we emerged from the clouds, and the valley of Rivendell lay below us. And so here we are."

There was silence for a moment, and then Elrond rose. "Well, Gandalf," he said, "You are an excellent story teller. But now, I think, our guests should retire. Frodo, especially, has a long journey ahead of him, and there will be little time to rest. We will assemble here in the morning."

* * *

I apologise for telling all the action as a story, rather than as direct action. I'm afraid that's just the way it worked out. Don't worry - there will be actual action sooner or later.

Cloaked Eagle


	3. Fire And Smoke

Disclaimer: The plot is mine, the characters and locations are Tolkien's.

Chapter III: Fire and Smoke

"Surely you're not going alone, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo smiled. "I'm sorry, Sam. I do wish you could come with me, but time is of the essence. Taking along an extra person could mean failure."

"But how will you survive?" asked Sam frantically. "You'll be gone for six days, with no one to cook for you or anything . . ."

"Your loyalty commends you, Samwise," said Gandalf from where he stood beside Gwaihir. "I too wish that you could accompany us, but Gwaihir and Landroval are not accustomed to carrying burdens. If there was time, we should ask Gwaihir to call another of his people to accompany us, that you may be borne aloft too, but there is not. The Orcs are already moving, and time, as Frodo has said, is of the essence."

Sam bowed his head. "I suppose that is true, Mr. Gandalf. For the safety of Middle-Earth, I can let him go."

"Thank you, Sam," replied Gandalf. He climbed onto the Eagle's back, and looked back at the little Hobbit. "And I will take care of your master, Samwise, I promise. You will see him within the week." With that, the Eagles lifted gracefully into the sky, bearing with them the hope of Middle-Earth.

The journey to Mordor and Mount Doom was long and uncomfortable. Twice only did they stop, in the nights, that Gandalf and Frodo could find food to eat, and get some sleep. And thus, as the sun set on their third day of travel, they came to the place none of them wished to see, but were driven to by necessity – the Cracks of Doom, on the side of Orodruin.

"Behold, Frodo," said Gandalf, "the fires in which Sauron forged the Ring, long ago. The time has come to undo that making. Take out the Ring, and cast it back into the pit!"

His face lit by the dull red glow from below, Frodo reached into his tunic and pulled out his burden. Hanging there, on its silver chain, it seemed so beautiful. He stared at it, seeing the fiery lettering forming in the overwhelming heat of the volcano. As he looked, he wondered if perhaps there could be another way, a way to redeem the Ring, to claim its powers for good.

"There is not," said Gandalf quietly. "The Ring was made by evil, and is itself Evil, just as the Great Jewels were Good. It cannot serve any purpose save that of the Dark Lord. Destroy it now, before we are discovered."

"I suppose you are right," the Hobbit replied. "But here, now, when it comes down to it, I don't really want to give it up. We fought so hard to save it, to keep it, that it seems . . . wrong."

"Listen to yourself, Frodo," said Gandalf sternly. "That is not you speaking. The Ring knows why we are here, and it will do anything it can to preserve itself. Destroy it. Now."

On the last word, there was a subtle shift in the Wizard's tone, from lecturing to Command. Before he knew what had happened, Frodo was at the edge of the precipice, holding the Ring out. It dangled there, twisting gently in the updraft. It was so beautiful – surely it could not be evil. Frodo began to turn away. And then . . .

. . . he remembered the Shire, remembered the evil this simple gold band had called to it, how the woods had become filled with peril. He remembered his fear on Weathertop, and at the Ford, and he remembered that it was all down to this ring. There was no good in it. He let it go.

The Ring plunged into the lava, submerging completely before returning to the surface. As Frodo watched, the letters blazed out, brighter than ever before. Then they began to lose their clarity as the One Ring, bane of all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, softened under the intense heat.

"Come, Frodo," cried Gandalf. "It is not safe to remain here!"

But Frodo could not move. Even as the Ring bent, twisting as it softened, he kept watching, until finally it melted, dissolving into the lava. Then he looked to Gandalf – only to be thrown off his feet.

The Ring's destruction sent shock waves through the whole of Middle-Earth. In his dark tower, Sauron screamed as his spirit was ripped from his body and torn asunder, destroying him and all his works as if he had never been. In the foothills of the Misty Mountains, the Nazgul, still working their way by foot back to Mordor, fell screaming as flames engulfed them. In the tower of Orthanc, Saruman flew back as his mental battle with the Dark Lord was suddenly, violently terminated. And deep beneath the Misty Mountains, something ancient awoke.

A tremor rocked the mountain, and Frodo teetered on the very edge of the precipice. Below him, the lava bubbled, rising slowly up the walls of the chamber. _How ironic it will be_, he thought, _to die now, after the quest is complete_. He leaned forward, willing the lava to take him . . .

. . . and was pulled back by a hand to his collar. Gandalf lifted the delirious Hobbit up and dashed out of the chamber to where the Eagles awaited. Ignoring Landroval, he jumped up onto Gwaihir, holding Frodo in front of him, and cried, "Fly now! Before you cannot fly at all!"

The great Eagles burst from the clouds of ash and smoke into the clearer air. Behind them, fire spread from the ruins of Mount Doom, and they had to fly an erratic course to evade the rocks that still flew up from the dying mountain.

For a day and a half they flew, stopping only for Gandalf to collect water for Frodo. Then, as the sun reached her zenith on the second day of November, Gwaihir saw a column of smoke rising, far to the south.

"Alas," cried Gandalf, "I fear Saruman has betrayed us again! I had hoped that the fall of Sauron might free his mind, but I see now that I was wrong. The fires of war burn in Isengard this day. Gwaihir, I bid you bear me there, that I might see what has passed."

"Nay," replied the Eagle, "That I will not do. You must care for Frodo, for without you he will surely perish. Nevertheless, this must be investigated. Landroval shall go in our stead."

"As you wish, my brother," said Landroval from where he flew. "Carry our charges back to Imladris and Lord Elrond – I will join you there within the week." With that, the great eagle turned and sped south, while Gwaihir continued north-west, to Rivendell and sanctuary.

* * *

I'm reasonably sure the Eagles can talk. They did so in The Hobbit, as I recall.

Cloaked Eagle


	4. Change Of Plan

Disclaimer: I claim no characters or locations, for they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I do claim, however, the revised plot.

Chapter IV: Change of Plan

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Elrond."

The Lord of Rivendell smiled warmly. "Frodo Baggins, it is we who should be thanking you. You risked much for us, and for all the Free Peoples. And now, return home, to the peaceful life you have earned."

Frodo nodded, and turned to join his friends on the bridge. Then he paused, turned back, and said, "I'm afraid the Shire, peaceful as it is, may seem a bit boring at times. Would you mind awfully if I perhaps came to visit occasionally?"

Elrond laughed. "Of course not. You may return to Rivendell whenever you wish. And bring some companions – I'm sure Samwise won't object to seeing elves again."

Frodo laughed, the first time he had done so since recovering from his injuries. "No, my Lord, I don't believe he will. Farewell, then, for now." With that, he joined Sam, Merry and Pippin on the narrow bridge. The four turned to wave one last time, then turned west, towards home and safety. Elrond watched them go, and then turned to his companions.

"A great hero has just left my house," the half-elf said, "yet I believe in a few lives of Men, none will remember his name."

"That is the way he wants it," replied Gandalf. "No fame, no fortune, just a peaceful life in the Shire."

"And he will get it," said the third member of the group. "Halbarad and his sons are watching them as we speak, and will guard them, unseen, to the borders of the Shire."

Elrond smiled. "The Halflings were fortunate indeed that you met them, Estel," he said. "With the Dunedain watching over them, they will be safe indeed." Aragorn nodded at this, but his face remained grim. Elrond sighed. "We, however, are not so fortunate. The council has been convened, and merely awaits our presence. Come." With that, he turned back to the Last Homely House, his two companions behind him as he strode towards the porch where the council had gathered.

As the trio passed out of the eastern doors of the House, they discovered a council of sorts already running.

"You would leave the White City unwarned in favour of your own halls!"

"Nay, Boromir, that was not what I said. I meant only that we should place priority on warning those realms in immediate danger."

"And you say that Gondor is not? Might I remind you that Saruman need only march his troops across Rohan, never even facing resistance unless he draws near the mountains, to find himself . . ." Boromir's voice tailed off as he realised he was the only one left speaking. Turning, he saw with shock that Elrond had stepped out onto the porch.

"Yes, Boromir, that is indeed true," stated Elrond. "Yet Prince Legolas also speaks true – Saruman is more likely to attack Rohan first, if only so that he cannot be attacked on two fronts when he does arrive at Minas Tirith."

Boromir bowed slightly and seated himself. Elrond then turned to Legolas. "But you, Thranduilion. Why do you say that your father's halls are endangered? Saruman has not the strength to attack so far to the north."

"Not Saruman, no," replied Legolas, seating himself. "But Gwaihir has just departed, and brought fearful news. Smoke has been sighted rising over the East Gate of the Mines of Moria, and more over Dol Guldur. If darkness is rising again in the south of Mirkwood, the only reasonable assumption is that my home will be assaulted ere long."

"Perhaps not all this smoke heralds evil," put in Glóin of Erebor. As Legolas turned towards him, preparing to lash out for the implication that an attack on Mirkwood was not evil, the dwarf continued. "We know of how Balin travelled to reclaim Khazad-Dûm – perhaps he has succeeded indeed, and the smoke at the East Gate rises from furnaces within."

"I hope that that is indeed the case," said Elrond, "but whether it be or not, Dol Guldur is still a threat. And so we must fight no two, perhaps three fronts: Saruman strikes at Rohan, Dol Guldur and whatever evil dwells there strikes at Mirkwood, and maybe something from beneath the mountains is awakened to assault Lothlórien."

Boromir looked at the Elf Lord in shock. Lothlórien, the Golden Wood, home of a powerful witch, had long been a legend among his people. Was Elrond saying that the tales were true?

Heedless of this reaction to his words, Elrond continued. "Legolas, you spoke to Gwaihir. What news did he bring of Landroval?"

"No news, my lord," replied the prince. "He said only that his brother had not returned, and that they feared for him."

"News this is indeed, and grave news at that," said Gandalf. "The Great Eagles move swiftly, and Landroval should have returned long ago. If he has not, then I fear him captured, or slain."

Elrond rose. "Whatever has befallen Landroval, it places us in a perilous situation. News we have not, yet news we need, from all of the sites under threat. Gandalf, Estel, you two shall travel south with all speed, to learn what has befallen Rohan."

"And what of me?" cried Boromir, leaping to his feet. "If Rohan falls, Gondor will be next. Will you not send me to help my people?"

"What could one man, however brave, do against the hordes of Saruman?" asked Elrond. Before Boromir could respond, he continued. "Nothing alone, but I suggest this. Legolas' and Glóin's parties will be returning to their homes, to warn against the threat of Dol Guldur, and to tell of the fall of Sauron. You, Boromir of Gondor, will travel with them, and once the threat to those kingdoms has passed, request that they assist your homeland in repelling Saruman."

Boromir considered this proposition, and then turned to Legolas. "Prince Legolas, will your father send aid to Gondor?"

The elf nodded. "If there is no threat to his kingdom, he will, gladly. It is only with dwarves," at this he turned to glare at Glóin, "that he has trouble."

Elrond frowned. "He may indeed have difficulties with dwarves, but you, Legolas, will have to overcome those problems. I fear that the roads through Mirkwood are dangerous, and the companies of elves and dwarves will need to stay together. Boromir, you will need to ensure that they do so, for both armies will be of help to you."

Boromir nodded, wondering as he did so precisely how he could keep two such argumentative groups together. He would think of something, he was sure.

"And you, Glorfindel," continued Elrond, turning to the golden-haired elf of Rivendell. "You are known of old to Lady Galadriel, so I assign you to take the army of Imladris to Lórien. If there is danger from Moria, you will help defeat it. If there is none, perhaps you can persuade Galadriel to take up her sword once more, and march to the aid of Gondor."

"I will, my lord," replied the elf, and Boromir was shocked at the intensity in his voice. He remembered then the tales of a Glorfindel from the First Age, one who had slain a Balrog, and been slain in return. Surely this could not be the same elf?

"All is arranged, then," said Elrond, snapping Boromir from his thoughts. "Time is short, so you will all leave within two days. Go now to organise your departures." And with that, he rose and re-entered the House.

* * *

I am not going to take sides on the issue of how many Glorfindels there are at this point. If I do so later, I'll let you know.

And yes, I'm being nice to Boromir. He deserves it, after all the flak he gets for actions and events not entirely under his control.

Cloaked Eagle


	5. Hidden Peril

Disclaimer: Characters and locations belong to Professor Tolkien. Plot belongs to me. 

Chapter V: Hidden Peril

While the Free Peoples made their plans and Frodo and his friends travelled home, a new enemy was stirring. Deep beneath the Misty Mountains, in the deepest pits of the Mines of Moria, a creature more ancient than all the races of the world awoke. A creature of fire and shadow – a Balrog of Morgoth.

The fallen Maia stretched out with senses attuned to darkness and evil. It sensed the void in Mordor that Sauron's fall had left, and the secondary gap in Dol Guldur, where now the Orcs milled in confusion. To the South it sensed Saruman, preparing his own assault on the World of Men. _So many choices_, it thought, _and so little time_.

Reaching out with its considerable powers – powers that had made it one of the most fearsome servants of Morgoth, back in the First Age – the Balrog tapped into the minds of all the Orcs in its domain. Moria awoke once more, legions of dark beings swarming through the halls of the Dwarrowdelf. In the Second Hall of the First Deep they gathered, filling the floor like a black tide, with the Balrog a burning island at the centre.

_The greatest servant of the Master has fallen_, thought the Balrog. _Now I am the strongest who remains. The Elves brought about the defeat of the Master, and now I will revenge us on the Elves. I sense them out there, just beyond the walls_.

Following the hints given it by its senses, the Balrog ordered its armies and sent them forth. The flowed over the twilight hills, pouring down the river Silverlode to a great forest – Lothlórien.

The Balrog knew, despite the curious light that stopped it sensing precisely how many of the hated Elves lived in the Golden Wood, that its hordes vastly outnumbered theirs. Therefore, it wasted no time to personally direct the battle, instead passing eastwards in a cloud of smoke, fleet as a burning wind, coming within two days to the tower of Dol Guldur, in Southern Mirkwood.

In this, the lesser stronghold of Sauron, the Balrog gathered strength, summoning all the forces of Dark that inhabited Mirkwood to itself. The Wood Elves of Thranduil's realm were greatly surprised when all the Spiders vanished overnight, and the Shadow that lay over the great forest seemed to have lifted.

But still more surprised were they a week later, when the massed armies of the Balrog appeared at their gates. Their defences were overrun, and the Orcs roamed freely in their halls. But the Balrog itself came not, for by that time other things had befallen it.

After its troops had departed, the mighty demon turned its attention to that other will it had felt holding the forces of Darkness. It senses to the South a kindred spirit, another Maia, yet one not yet fully fallen. It considered this for some time before arriving at a decision.

_There cannot be two Dark Lords in Middle-Earth. If I am to achieve absolute power, and avenge the Master, this upstart must be destroyed_.

Decision made, the Balrog wasted no time. Leaving the dark forest behind it, the great shadow headed south to Isengard, flying across the fields like a dying star.

* * *

Another controversial issue I'm not taking sides on - Balrogs and their wings. Any references to flying Balrogs can be taken either literally or as metaphors. It works either way, although it may have to run very fast.

And apologies for the short chapter. They _do_ start getting longer...

Cloaked Eagle


	6. Farewell to Imladris

Disclaimer: Everything bar the plot itself - which is my own - belongs to Professor Tolkien.

Chapter VI: Farewell to Imladris

"Aragorn!"

"Estel!"

"Where _are_ you?"

Aragorn smiled at Arwen. "It seems even the combined powers of your father and Gandalf cannot find us here."

Arwen grinned. "That may be useful knowledge someday, but for now . . ." She paused, glanced at the floor, and then continued. "You must depart, my love. The fate of the world rests upon your shoulders – again."

Aragorn laughed softly, and kissed the beautiful Elven maiden upon the forehead. "I will return soon enough, and with the Kingship of Gondor behind me, your father will finally let us be wed."

Arwen smiled again. "I look forward to that day. But for now, go! I hear footsteps coming near."

The Dúnadan kissed his beloved one more time, and then slipped away. A moment later, back on the paths of Rivendell, he encountered Elrond.

"Estel!" cried the irate Lord of Imladris. "Gandalf has been ready to depart for several minutes, and yet I find you still wandering the gardens as though you are not leaving today at all!"

Aragorn smiled, bowed slightly to his foster-father, and walked briskly towards the front porch. "You will find, my Lord, that what few supplies I require are sitting on your porch. I merely took the time while Gandalf was packing to bid farewell to your beautiful gardens."

Elrond stared at the Heir of Isildur for a moment, and then laughed. "Yes, and no doubt to my beautiful daughter also. No, do not look embarrassed, Estel. Now come, for despite your preparations, the journey is still long, and you must move quickly."

As Elrond overtook him, Aragorn grinned wryly. He should have learnt by now that to hide anything from Elrond – especially anything concerning his daughter – was almost impossible.

"Come along, Estel, cease your daydreaming," came the stern voice from in front of him. Aragorn quickened his pace, arriving at the porch side by side with Elrond. Gandalf stood there, staff in hand, Glamdring at his side. He seemed about to speak, but before he could do so, another voice cut into the silence.

"Estel! We were wondering when you would turn up. And how is our dear sister?"

Aragorn grimaced. Another thing he had to remember – Elladan and Elrohir were even worse at noticing things concerning Arwen than their father. "She is fine, Elladan. Did you come here for any reason other than to torment me?"

"Why, Estel," replied Elladan, stepping down from the porch, "you wound me. Why must you always assume the worst?" At Aragorn's glare, the half-elf grinned, and continued. "But if you must know, yes, I do have another reason to be here. Or were you planning to go into the wild unarmed?"

Aragorn gasped, and reached down to his waist. His scabbard was gone, and with it his primary offensive weapon. He carried a bow and dagger for hunting, of course, but in a close fight a sword was far more useful. "So what do you have for me, Elladan? I see no sword in your hand."

Elladan nodded agreeably. "Very observant of you, Estel. However, if my brother would hurry up and get here . . . and here he is now." Over the lawn, from the direction of the stables, Elrohir came running. Aragorn could see from the way he moved that he carried a sword at his waist, but it was only when the half-elf came to a halt on the porch that Aragorn recognised the scabbard.

"That's mine!"

Elrohir grinned. "It is, Estel, and . . . but no, I'm doing this wrong. Father, you should do the honours." And with that, Elrohir passed the sword to Elrond, who turned to Aragorn.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, you are about to set out on a journey that could see a final end to the darkness in our world, and the return of the King to his rightful throne in Minas Tirith. On this occasion, therefore, I present to you the sword of Elendil. My sons, Elladan and Elrohir, have worked non-stop since you arrived to have this ready for your departure, but as you see, they succeeded in their usual just-in-time manner." Elrond paused, and drew the sword – the _unbroken_ sword – from its sheath. "Narsil has been reforged and renamed, and so I now present to you Andúril, the Flame of the West. May it serve you well." He held the sword out to Aragorn.

Aragorn reached out with one hand and took the sword, feeling its weight, its balance. He nodded, and as he slipped it into the scabbard Elrond had handed him, he nodded to the Peredhil twins. "A good forging, my brothers. I thank you."

The brothers smiled at each other, but did not speak. That was left to Elrond. "Go now, Estel, and fulfil your destiny." Elrond paused, then nodded at Gandalf. "And please, take that old fool with you. He is beginning to drive us all crazy."

After the riotous departure of Aragorn and Gandalf, Elrond almost found himself bored during the formal farewells to the Mirkwood and Erebor parties. There was one moment of levity when Boromir, witnessing the third argument in half an hour, had looked beseechingly at Elrond and said, "Please, gracious lord, send me to follow Aragorn, send me to map the Far North, even send me to survey the ruins of Mordor, but do not make me look after these squabbling children all the way to Mirkwood." After that, the Elves and Dwarves had quietened, but Elrond did not doubt that Boromir would have his hands full preventing them from killing each other.

Having seen them off, Elrond went looking for Glorfindel, who was supposed to be preparing what little army Imladris had to march to Lórien. On the way, he discovered Arwen, who was leaning on the porch wall, looking wistfully to the South. Elrond smiled slightly at such a show of devotion, remembering how he had been much the same when his wife, Celebrían, had been away. Stepping up beside his daughter, he said, "He will survive, you know."

Arwen did not seem to hear him, instead speaking as if to herself. "Sometimes, when he goes away into the wild, I come here, and look out in the direction he has gone. I speak into the wind, saying all the things I would have said to him, hoping that it might carry my words to him." She turned and looked at her father. "Does that make me mad, father?"

Elrond reached out and touched his daughter's cheek. "No, Arwen, it simply shows the depth of your devotion to Estel." He paused, and smiled. Taking Arwen by the arm, he led her back into the Last Homely House. "Did I ever tell you about the time your mother travelled back to Lothlórien to see her parents, and I took to climbing the bell tower every evening and calling out to her, as if my voice could carry across the Misty Mountains themselves?"

The impromptu story session stretched out, and Elrond did not find Glorfindel until late that evening. Nevertheless, he considered the hours spent with his daughter to be time well spent.

* * *

There. A longer chapter at last.

The story of Elrond when Celebrían was visiting Lórien, is my own, and will be appearing on my profile at some point. Probably after I get round to writing it.

Cloaked Eagle


	7. Golden Flame

Disclaimer: Everything is Tolkien's except the plot, which is mine.

Chapter VII: Golden Flame

"Father."

Théoden looked down at his son, his brow creased. "What news, Théodred?"

Théodred rose. "My king, the battle goes ill. Éomer and his éored have been forced into retreat, and the army of Saruman is almost to our gates. We need a rallying point. Father, will you not come out to speak to the troops?"

Théoden frowned. "My son, I would, but I grow weak in recent times. My bones are old, and I am practically confined to this chair by my own fragility."

"My lord . . ." started Théodred, but stopped. There was no real hope of convincing his father. At least, not for him . . . he glanced to the side, to where his cousin Éowyn sat. Seeing his gaze, she shook her head, a wordless reply to a question unasked. If he could not convince the king, nor could she. There was no hope.

"Nay, Théoden King, you are not so weak yet," said a voice from the shadows. Gríma, the advisor called Wormtongue by all save the king himself, stepped forth. Théodred frowned at this assistance from such an unexpected source. He exchanged another anxious glance with Éowyn, seeing that she shared his suspicions of ulterior motives on the part of Gríma. Meanwhile, oblivious to their silent exchange, the advisor continued. "Though the burden of age does lie heavy upon you, a short trip should not be too hard on you body."

Théodred gave a mental shrug, and turned back to the king. "Gríma is correct, my liege. Come, take my arm, and I shall escort you to where our troops wait, prepared to defend our fair city."

Théoden still seemed uncertain, but at that moment the doors to Meduseld slammed back and Éothain entered at a run. All those in the hall turned to see him, and all heard his news. "Éomer has fallen, and the éored is fallen back to Edoras. We must leave the city."

"No!" cried Théodred and Gríma with one voice. As Théodred glared at his unlikely ally, Gríma said, "My king, surely this proves my point. You must address the troops."

Théoden sighed deeply, and then rose unsteadily to his feet. Swiftly, Éowyn and Théodred dashed over to support him. As they led the aged king from the Golden Hall, neither of them noted the sinister grin forming on Gríma's face, nor the way the advisor slipped out of the rear of the hall.

Théoden stood on the steps before the great hall, alone, but with Éowyn and Théodred prepared to rush to his side should he need extra support. With great effort, the king stood straighter, and began to speak,in a weak voice. "Riders of the Riddermark . . ." But he got no further. He gasped, then fell forward, displaying for all to see the arrow in his back. As Éowyn dashed to the fallen king's side – too late, for he was already dead – Théodred span around, fast enough to catch a quick glimpse of movement in the Hall's corner tower.

"Wormtongue," he snarled, and took a step towards the doors, intending to slay the treacherous advisor with his own hand. Then he span around again as the screams began.

The orcs of Saruman's army had broken down the gates of Edoras, and had begun to tear through the houses, spreading out, but still heading up the hill, to where the combined armies of Rohan milled in confusion at the loss of their leader. Théodred knew what he had to do. Stepping down beside Éowyn and the dead king, he exchanged one look with his cousin, and then spoke in a loud, clear voice.

"Riders of the Mark!"

The horsemen turned, looking away from the destruction towards their new leader. Heartened, Théodred continued. "Riders of the Mark, on this day the treachery of the wizard Saruman has taken King Théoden from us. But Saruman does not recognise the strength of the Eorlingas. When one leader falls, another will rise in his place. And so I say to you, Riders of Théodred, rise now! Ride now! Your city is burning – drive the orcs out with swords and spears and blood! Forth Eorlingas!" And with that last great cry he leapt onto his horse, which waited where he had left it but a few minutes ago, and charged off down the path, slaying orcs right and left. Behind him, the Riders of Rohan wheeled, drew their swords, and let out a great cry, charging after their king to save their city.

It was a mere ten minutes later that Théodred rode back up to the Golden Hall, stopping beside where Éowyn still knelt next to her king. Looking down at her, he said softly, "He was a great king, my cousin, but the time for mourning is not now. We have driven back the orcs, but they will come again. We must flee the city."

Éowyn did not look up, but her tone was angry. "My brother died defending this city, and now you say we must leave? I say we stand and fight!"

Théodred dismounted his horse and rested a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "If there was any hope of victory, I would agree with you in an instant. But there is none. The hordes of the wizard are greater than I would have thought possible, ten times the force we can field. There is no hope if we stay, merely a way to destroy ourselves and let all memory of our people pass from the world. We must leave."

She nodded, and then looked up at him through tear-streaked eyes. "But where shall we go, that Saruman cannot follow us?"

Théodred shook his head. "There is no such place. But listen! You shall lead the people of Edoras to Dunharrow. The éoreds and myself will guard your retreat. We can defend the Hold almost indefinitely. It is our only hope."

Éowyn sat up, her mind whirling with tactical considerations. On her face, Théodred recognised the grim look her brother had often worn, and knew that she was the best advisor he could have on that day. "The road to the Hold of Dunharrow is some twenty-five miles in length. Even if we make haste, that is a half day of travel, perhaps more with the elderly taken into account. Can you hold them off for so long?"

Théodred closed his eyes and nodded. "We must, Éowyn. If we do not, all is lost." Then he straightened, and leapt astride his horse. "Now go, dear cousin, and gather the people. Tell them to leave all that cannot be easily carried. And hurry! For Saruman's forces are already regrouping, and I fear they will attack again before nightfall. When they do so, they will find an empty city."

And so they did. Éowyn had led the people from the city within the hour, and when the orcs charged through the undefended gates in the early evening, the Rohirrim were some distance into Harrowdale. Éowyn, leading the procession with her cousin alongside her, glanced back at her home and gasped. Théodred turned in his saddle, following her gaze, and saw what had so shocked her. Flames rose over Edoras, pouring a column of smoke far into the sky. Sighing sadly, he looked down at Éowyn. "The city is burning, dearest cousin, but that which it represents lives still. The Kingdom of Rohan will never fall, and that is more important than mere buildings. The heart of our country is not in the land, but in the people."

He was about to say more, but at that moment a piercing whistle from the back of the procession caught his attention. He knew at once what it meant – the scouts had returned, and the orcs were closing in. Théodred looked down at Éowyn one more time. "Lead our people well, cousin, while I defend them from these abominations. Farewell!" With that, he turned and galloped back to his troops, while Éowyn watched him fade into the gathering gloom.

* * *

Not much to say, except that I'm trying to use lesser-known characters where I can, such as Théodred. That, and please don't kill me, Rohirrim fans.

Cloaked Eagle


	8. Fallen Kingdom

Disclaimer: As usual, only the plot itself is my own. Anything else belongs to Tolkien.

Chapter VIII: Fallen Kingdom

As he walked through the last stretch of the forest, Gimli considered how much he had changed during the journey. At the beginning, he was fairly certain he would have grumbled incessantly at the mere thought of being guided by an elf – his father, Glóin, certainly was.

But that had been before. During the days that separated him from that other, less tolerant Gimli, he had had conversations with Legolas, their current guide, and Boromir, the Man who had come with them, on any number of subjects. Gimli had never thought he would count an elf as a friend, but there it was.

At that moment the elf himself ran back along the path, returning from his trip to negotiate passage for the dwarves through his father's realm. Gimli was shocked to see tears running down Legolas' face, but the Prince's next words brought a terrible clarity to things. "The Halls... in flames... smoke pouring out..."

Even Glóin, who had the most reason of them all to despise King Thranduil, was stunned into speechlessness by the news. Eventually, Boromir spoke. "Are there... were there... I mean, was there anyone left?"

Legolas shook his head. "I don't... I didn't go inside. I saw the smoke coming from the main doors and panicked..." Gimli knew from that precisely how shaken up the elf was. Unless he was in deep shock, there was no way he would admit to such weakness in front of the dwarves. He could see that his father had noticed this too, and was already seeking a way to exploit it. Rather than allowing that, Gimli spoke up.

"Then there may be survivors. They may have beaten off the attack and now be in need of assistance. We should go and check." He could see that his father was not pleased with this idea, so quickly added, "They will be very grateful, I'm sure." That comment, with all the gold it implied, immediately brought Glóin round to his son's viewpoint.

"Yes indeed," said the older dwarf. "Lead the way, Prince Legolas." He managed to make the title sound like an insult, but Legolas was still too stunned to notice. The elf merely nodded and wandered off down the path.

The group reached the gates of Thranduil's halls – the _open_ gates, something which Gimli knew from his father's stories was a rarity in itself – to find the situation just as bad as Legolas had said. Smoke poured out of the arched doorway, and the grass step outside had been reduced to a muddy mess covered in footprints – footprints which all present immediately identified as those of orcs.

By mutual agreement, Glóin and the other dwarves stayed to guard the porch, while the elves that had gone with Legolas spread out into the forest to search for signs, tracks, or anything else of interest. Gimli, Legolas and Boromir went into the ruined halls, to see if they could find any survivors who could tell them what had happened.

Chamber after chamber they passed through, of many different sizes, but all stained black by the smoke from the fires that dotted the caverns. Everywhere they went the mutilated bodies of elves lay where they had fallen, few of them armed, and some still sleeping. This underscored exactly how fast the attack must have hit, and Gimli said as much to Boromir.

"Aye," replied the man. "It seems the orcs must have struck with a swiftness I have never before seen." He stopped there, but Gimli could read on his face the words he had left unspoken. _I hope that they do not strike as swiftly at Gondor_.

The dwarf was about to reply when from up ahead they heard a cry from Legolas and the sound of a bow being fired. Breaking into a run, they rounded a corner to see the elf standing in the corridor, bow still in hand, a giant spider lying dead at his feet. He was shaking all over, and on noticing their approach, said, "That room was my family's room. I was going to check, but then _that_ came out. I... don't think I can go in there and check. Could one of you...?"

The question was unfinished, but both understood it. They both knew all about Legolas' family from the long conversations in the forest, and so could identify bodies as easily as he. "I will," said Gimli, and stepped over the spider corpse into the room. After a moment, he stepped out again, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Legolas."

The elf looked stricken. "All of them?" Gimli nodded. Legolas' shoulders slumped, and he fell back against the wall, weeping.

Gimli stayed with the grieving elf while Boromir completed the survey of the caves, finding no survivors. When Legolas was once again fit to travel, the trio returned to the entrance, where more cheerful news awaited them. The Elven scouts had returned, and had brought news of signs of the elves retreating to the east, along the river, towards Lake Town, and of signs that they had been pursued by the orcs and spiders.

Legolas nodded, his expression distant. "Then we must follow them, for with the demise of my family I am now King of these people, and they are my responsibility. Show me the path, and the rest of you, follow."

Despite the vague tone, the elf's voice had taken on a tone of command, and even the dwarves found themselves obeying him. The group marched onwards, towards the Long Lake, and war.

* * *

The story of Legolas, Gimli and Boromir on their trek through Mirkwood will be posted seperately. Watch out for a story entitled 'Friends In Time'. 

Cloaked Eagle


	9. Fading Remnant

Disclaimer: Aren't you bored of these things yet? Okay, the events are my own, but the characters and locations belong to Tolkien.

Chapter IX: Fading Remnant

"Gandalf! Come quickly! Something is terribly wrong!"

Gandalf hastened his stride, catching up with Aragorn at the peak of Dol Baran, from where the pair could see the whole of Nan Curunír spread out before them. But this was not the green field Gandalf remembered. The whole vale was burnt black, with small fires still smouldering along the edges. If it had not been for the heavy rainfall the night before, Gandalf feared the whole have Rohan would have been burning.

"Surely this cannot be the work of Saruman," said Aragorn, intruding on the wizard's thoughts. "I know you saw smoke, but this . . . this is beyond even his power."

"Do not underestimate the abilities of Saruman," chided Gandalf. "Even with his mind half-enslaved by Sauron he was powerful. Now, with his own will, and all the strength he gained through his battles with the Dark Lord, he must be strong indeed. And yet," he raised a hand to ward off the Dúnadan's apology, "I concur. This is not his work. I fear a far greater and more ancient evil has been at work here. I fear . . ." His voice tailed off.

"What do you fear?" asked Aragorn. Gandalf shook his head.

"Nay, do not ask me that until I am sure. Why do we not ask those who know for certain?"

Aragorn blinked, and turned to survey the blackened field before them. "I see no one, only burnt grass and a small stand of trees." His brow furrowed. "I do not understand how they could have survived the devastation, but even you, I think, could not persuade them to speak of it."

Gandalf shook his head. "I cannot speak to the trees, Aragorn, but this is of no matter. Your eyes deceive you – those are not trees."

"Not trees?" Aragorn stared in confusion. If they were not trees, yet held the semblance of trees at this distance – he judged it to be a league at the most – then he could think of nothing that they could be. Nothing in all of Middle-earth looked similar enough to trees. Nothing, that is, save . . . "Ents? I thought their kind were gone long ago."

Gandalf smiled. "Very good, Aragorn. They are, indeed, ents, and although they have been reduced, they are not yet lost to this world. If you look closer, you will see that they are, in fact, moving towards us. Come, let us go down and meet them."

As he approached the crowd of ents, Aragorn began to see the differences between them and true trees. Shorter they were, with a more mannish appearance to them. He could almost believe them to be some grotesque half-breed, part man, part tree, but could not see how such a thing could come to be. As if sensing his thoughts, Gandalf muttered, "The ents are trees inhabited by powerful spirits, created by the Vala Yavanna long ago. They are far older than anyone you are ever likely to meet, save a few such as myself. Be respectful. I suspect that the leader will be one known as Fangorn, Treebeard in the Common Tongue, one of the last of the original ents." With that, Gandalf looked ahead to the ents, now only a few hundred strides away, and called, "Ho, there, shepherds of the trees! I am Gandalf, known to you of old! Where is Treebeard, for I desire to speak to him?"

The answer came back, a deep rumbling on the wind. "Treebeard is fallen in the ruins of our home. We are the last of our people. I am Quickbeam, and I have heard of you, Gandalf the Wanderer. Perhaps you can assist in our plight."

The pair had now reached the small group, which Aragorn estimated to contain no more than twenty ents. "Treebeard is fallen and Fangorn is ruined?" asked Gandalf with concern. "How did such a thing come to pass? Was it Saruman?"

"Nay," replied the one identified as Quickbeam. "Of late Saruman was no friend of the ents, but even he could not overcome us. This was a different terror, a creature from the north. It fell upon us as a living fire, yet no water could douse it. A straight line it hewed through the heart of our forest, and the fires it left behind spread. Many ents fell, among them Fangorn himself. We few escaped, following the beast around the mountains to the Wizard's Vale. It turned north, heading for Isengard, and leaving this ruin in its wake."

Aragorn looked over at Gandalf, trying to gauge his reaction, but was shocked to find the wizard had paled and frozen in place. Attempting to cover for his friend, Aragorn asked, "What of Saruman? Did he destroy this creature?"

"Nay," replied Quickbeam. "Lights we saw over the Ring of Isengard, as if a great battle was occurring. But we fear that neither combatant was the victor – Saruman we glimpsed fleeing to the Southeast astride a great Eagle, and the creature of flame remains in Isengard. At night we have glimpsed its glow, but we know not why it remains there."

"It is a Balrog," said Gandalf suddenly, startling all those present, "and I suspect it has come from Moria."

"A Balrog?" asked Aragorn in disbelief. "Surely those were destroyed during the War of Wrath?"

"No, Aragorn, one at least still lives. I have felt it in the depths of the Misty Mountains, and I feel it now, but this description was the one clue I lacked to uncover its type." The wizard sighed, and a great weight seemed to settle on him. "A Balrog. I had thought my tasks were complete, but it seems there is one left for me."

The grey-clad Istar straightened up. "Aragorn, Saruman has fled toward Edoras, in the Kingdom of Rohan. There is a path over the peaks of the White Mountains accessible from the Hornburg. I urge you to take it, and to give assistance to the Rohirrim if they require it. Quickbeam," he turned to the ent, "I cannot command you, but if I could, I would ask that you and your people accompany Aragorn, for you would be invaluable assistance."

"I will go," said Aragorn, at the same moment as Quickbeam said, "We will go." Gandalf nodded.

"Excellent. Perhaps, between you, you can end the threat of Saruman. For myself . . ." The wizard took a deep breath. "I must face the Balrog. Besides Saruman, I may be the only one capable of destroying it."

Aragorn gasped. "Gandalf! If you do that . . ."

The wizard nodded. "It may be that I will fall. But that loss is acceptable, if the result is the banishing of an ancient evil from this world."

Aragorn nodded, attempting to speak through the sudden lump in his throat. "I hope that we can all be so brave as you, my friend."

"You will be, Aragorn," replied Gandalf with quiet certainty, and then walked briskly away to the north without looking back. Aragorn stared after him for a moment, debating whether to call him back, but finally turned and walked south, towards Helm's Deep.

* * *

_Darkness Falling_ is almost at an end, but don't expect a happy ending. The saga will be continued in Part Two, _Darkness Rising_, but I'm afraid there will be a bit of a delay in between while I actually get some of that written. More on this in Chapter Ten, the final chapter of this tale.

Oh, and a note to Inglor: Don't give up on the Elves so easily. They'll be back.

Cloaked Eagle


	10. Blaze Of Glory

Disclaimer: Characters and locations belong to Tolkien, and will be returned to him intact. Events belong to me.

Chapter X: Blaze of Glory

The Balrog had left Dol Guldur, heading south and west towards Isengard, and Saruman, its main rival to power. Anduin it crossed, passing near to beleaguered Lothlórien. Drawing ever closer to the Misty Mountains, it came at last to the borders of Fangorn Forest. There it stopped for a short time.

The fallen Maia gazed upon the forest with eyes of flame. Dark it was, and thick, with much that would impede the Balrog's progress. Passing around it, to the east, over the Downs and the Wold, would take time, and the Balrog was an impatient creature. Its dark face twisted into a cruel grin, and the mighty demon stretched forth its power, forcing its wreath of flame, which until now had been idling, to flare up, surrounding it fully and causing the grass upon which it stood to turn to ash within a second. As it stepped forward, under the eaves of the Entwood, the trees beside and before it lit. The Balrog hastened forward, leaving a spreading wake of fire behind it, and a trail of burnt trees.

The forest was large, and after crossing the Limlight the Balrog broke into a full run to cross the eighty-odd miles to the Entwash. At times, it glimpsed some of the trees it passed attempting to flee the flames, but all were caught and devoured by the unholy fire. Having slept for long ages, the Balrog knew nothing of the Ents it was now destroying once and for all, but had it known, it would not have cared. Nothing mattered to it but dominion.

After a time indeterminable, the ancient demon emerged from the remains of the forest. Swifter now, it passed around the southernmost foothills of the Mountains, and came into the Wizard's Vale. The armies of Saruman had swarmed into Rohan some time before, and thus the Balrog met with little resistance as it stormed across the plain and into the Ring of Isengard itself. Saruman, sensing its approach, had long since locked the tower of Orthanc up tight, but the Balrog smote the door with its powers and its fists, and it was broken in two.

Up the stair it strode, heading straight for the top, where it sensed the other Maia's presence. Very soon, it burst from the topmost door, and saw Saruman, standing beside a great eagle, whispering to it. The wizard turned to face the oncoming wall of shadow and flame.

"So," he said with a sneer, "you have come out of hiding. Through two ages you stayed down in the depths of these mountains, hiding like the coward you always were." The Balrog hesitated, and Saruman continued. "I remember you from the Song. You were one of those who succumbed to Melkor's dischord instantly, weren't you? A coward, surrendering to his influence merely because it was _easier_ then carrying on."

The Balrog began to feel as if the other Maia's words were true, as if it was too feeble to even consider carrying on its master's legacy. But then it remembered that this Maia was one with skill in influencing the minds of others. Shaking off the spell Saruman had woven, the Balrog pulled out its sword of flame and swung.

Long was the fight on the peak of Orthanc, but in the end neither was the victor. Sacrificing his staff to make the Balrog stumble for a moment, Saruman leapt aside Landroval, the eagle who he had captured and twisted with his words, and flew away into the night, towards Edoras and his armies. The Balrog was about to follow, but stopped, sensing another Maia nearing the Vale – Olórin, one known to it of old, from before the Song. The Balrog grinned its cruel grin, and settled down to wait for the other Maia's arrival.

And arrive he did, passing into the Ring of Isengard, through the broken door, and up the steps to the top of the tower of Orthanc. There, casting aside his staff and wielding instead Glamdring, the Foe Hammer, the grey-robed wizard confronted the Balrog.

Long and fierce was their battle, but at last Gandalf cast his foe from the tower, down onto the flagstones five hundred feet or more below. Turning away from the edge, the wizard breathed a sigh of relief, having survived his foe despite all the odds.

His relief had come too soon. With its last efforts, the Balrog turned all its powers of fire and shadow upon itself, building them up within its body, letting them feed on each other, growing to a strength unequalled by any since Melkor himself, until finally it could contain the energy no longer.

In the ruined fortress of Helm's Deep, Aragorn span around as a strange light shone past him, lighting the rubble that had once been a fortress. As the glare faded, the heir of Isildur saw the great fireball rising from the Wizard's Vale, and knew despair. Gandalf the Grey, Wizard from the uttermost West, was destroyed, while his evil counterpart, Saruman, was now free to visit devastation on the whole of the free world. If the Free Peoples could win now, it would be nothing short of a miracle. Middle-earth was lost.

* * *

And thus it ends. Yes, this story ends here, chapter ten.

Don't worry, though, there _will_ be a sequel. I currently have one chapter of the second story in this saga, _Darkness Rising_, written. When I reach five, I'll start posting it. And yes, I do have it all planned out.

While the second story will wrap up all the action, I may, at a later date, finish the trilogy with a story about What Happened After. This is tentatively (very _very_ tentatively) entitled _Light After Darkness_, but don't expect that to stick.

And now, just to whet your appetites (and to put an end to that annoying rumour about Lórien having fallen), here's an extract from the first chapter of _Darkness Rising_:

Forth swept the Elven troops, faster now than the wind itself. Glorfindel led the charge, crashing into the unsuspecting Orc army from behind. As they turned to counter him, Galadriel rallied her own desperate forces, now given new hope, and struck once more at the now-inattentive enemies pressed against the walls of Caras Galadhon.

Back and forth the battle raged, but slowly Glorfindel and Galadriel's armies were pushed back together to the bridge that led into the heart of Lothlórien. All hope seemed lost, but then Elladan and Elrohir struck simultaneously at the flanks of the enemy, cutting a wide swathe through the orc army and bringing down their commander within minutes.

Have a nice wait.

Cloaked Eagle


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